We now accept with reluctance that the Progressive Democrats has been convulsed to its insecure core. The relationship between Mary Harney and Michael McDowell has been described by party grandees as "dysfunctional".

They can't stand the sight of each other at the cabinet table. Mac wants Mary out and himself installed in his rightful position as party dictator, or leader, or whatever elevated role he has dreamed up for himself.

Mary's not for budging. Naturally, this stance is motivated by her concern for the best interests of the party, and particularly, the country. And McDowell, to give him his due, also believes that the country would be best served if his brilliance was exploited in a more prominent role.

That was the most touching revelation leaking from the party this week.

The grandees asked the pair to continue on for the sake of the country. Did you get that? For the sake of the country. As if, without them, everything would fall apart.

The only saving grace in this whole affair is that both protagonists are, like Bertie's description of Charlie Haughey, patriots to their fingertips.

So Mac made his move and Mary's people put him back in his box. Like members of La Cosa Nostra, both agreed it was just business, nothing personal, and in that grand tradition they ambled off to eat. The exact fare at the Unicorn on Thursday remains secret, but the dish Mac really wanted is best served cold.

Which brings us to the horror that is currently engulfing the country. What if they do implode? What would life be like without the PDs? Would Armageddon await? The horror, the horror.

The young among you, cocooned in your comfort zone, won't remember what life was like before the PDs came into our lives. Ask any self-respecting rightwing economist, or one of the many party cheerleaders among the media. Without the PDs, we would be kaput.

There would have been no boom, global or local. Horrendous unemployment would have persisted to the present day.

The property market would be more bear than bull. Tax rates would still be sky-high.

Saddam Hussein would still be in power.

Big Tom and the Mainliners would still be in the charts. The deterioration of the ozone layer would have continued unabated. Hurling would have gone the way of the Irish language.

We would never have heard of Tom Parlon. Nobody would be adding value, or going forward, or displaying the kind of courage that Michael's bathroom mirror tells him he is brimming with every morning.

Without the PDs, we would still be kaput. It's true. Ask anybody who voted for them. Three per cent of people can't be wrong all the time.

That was then. Now, the future for the country is dark, to put it brightly. The Split has been postponed, but after the next election, Harney will sail off to a clutch of directorships, and thus burst up the party. In the red corner will stand McDowell with his neo-conservative agenda, surrounded by his ally, Senator Tom 'Third terminal or bust' Morrissey.

The royal blue corner will be occupied by Liz O'Donnell. She will bear the liberal standard in a designer velvet glove, encasing her fist of steel. And lapping around her person will be those with the calibre of stomachs that just couldn't keep down the thought of being led by a super confident barrister.

It won't be pretty. There will be handbags at 30 paces. Blood will be spilt on the carpet in a right mess of mixed metaphors.

The smart money says Michael will lead the Provisional PDs into the wilderness, while Liz will proclaim that hers is the Real PDs. The party as we know it will follow its raison d'etre, Haughey, into the grave.

And wherefore the country? Will the Sean Bhean Bhocht be abandoned in its hour of need, left to the clutches of politicians who can't comprehend the higher calling of a PD? This is a time for steady hands. We must all try to carry on as best we can.